The Art of the BlowOff
by silverhelix428
Summary: I don't need a bevvy of mall-crawling freaks following me around. I already know what my dream man will be like." Molly successfully avoids a weirdo and muses on the awesomeness of music. Implied Mocah. Rated T for language


**Author's Note-** This is NOT my first piece of fan fiction. It is, however, my first piece posted on this site. I hope to add something to FF's dynamic, and I'm going to try to bring to light a lot of underloved characters. Expect a lot of oneshots, but I'll be doing a few epic!fics as well. Now, enough about me. On to the fic! Mostly I just wanted to write something kind of light to start out, and I've been feeling the Molly-love lately, so...

* * *

I sneak a glance at the freak in the backwards baseball cap over the rim of my Orange Julius cup. He's been watching me from across the mall food court for about ten minutes. I can already tell he's going to come over here and talk to me. Probably ask for my number, too. Lovely. Maybe he'll leave me alone long enough to finish my slice from Sbarro and get out of here.

I know what it is that's brought his eyes back to me again and again for the past few minutes since he first drifted in with a few of his friends (all of whom could be exact replicas of him, except for the small differences of hair and eye color, and sometimes height). As I grew older I started to notice the way boys eyes linger a little longer on me (specifically my chest) than on some girls. I can't blame them. The fact is, I _am_ very pretty, and thanks to my less-than-average life, I'm in good shape as well. My hair has taken on that almost-auburn tone that I always loved so much in my mother, and my heart-shaped face is pretty and feminine without being too delicate. Shame, though, that none of the guys who randomly walk up to me and bug me with their pathetic come-ons actually take an interest for more than my looks.

At that exact moment, Backwards-baseball-cap-boy plonks himself down next to me. I study him briefly. He's got a pretty good body, and his green eyes are friendly. He's definitely attractive, but... well, he's not even _close_ to my type. I give him a very tight-lipped smile, in an attempt to let him know that I really am not interested, thank you.

But apparently that doesn't work, because he says, "So... you come here often?"

Lame. Lame to the power of a jillion. Seriously, you'd think by the time guys got to high school they'd be able to do a little better than the cliché lines that a thousand movies have given us (and what a benevolent gift it was).

Thankfully, however, his "original" opener prompts me to my standard response. "I used to, but now that I know you do, don't look for me." I look back at the screen of my iPod, hoping that will be enough to dissuade this one.

No such luck, apparently. I should know better than to expect luck after all the shit life has decided to throw at me (not that I'm complaining, I love what I've got, even if the price was high). Baseball Cap Boy gives me a kicked-puppy smile that I'm sure was very cute, back when he was twelve or so. Doesn't work so well now, but that doesn't stop him from saying, "Aw, baby, don't be so cold."

I give him an arctic glare to tell him to buzz off, and also not to call me baby. Not for the first time, I wish I could push thoughts like Matt and get this creep to leave me the hell alone. Instead, he reaches over and takes the iPod out of my hands. Um, can you say "rude?" I'm seriously tempted to use a few of the crazy ninja-moves Sanjog taught me during my time in India on him. Nobody messes with my iPod... _nobody_.

"So what are you listening to?" he asks, trying to make the screen light up. Apparently he's not familiar with the setup, though, because he hasn't yet figured out that I've got the controls locked. I take the device back from him, and suddenly an idea pops into my head.

I quickly scroll through the list of bands to the one I'm looking for. It only takes me a second and by the time I'm done, I can still answer his question without it being weird. "My extra-special playlist," I say in a semi-seductive voice. "Want to listen with me?"

BCB grins. "Definitely, babe." I make a mental note to destroy him if he doesn't stop calling me things like that, and hand him one of the earbuds. Then as he slips it in his ear, I crank the volume as high as it will go.

He jumps about six feet in the air and yanks the thing out of his ear. "Holy shit!" he screams. "What the fuck _is_ that?"

"Malevolent Creation," I say innocently. "The Will To Kill. Don't tell me you haven't heard it?"

BCB stares at me, his eyes huge. "You actually listen to that shit?"

Now I frown. "There's no need for language like that," I say. "I listen to what I want to. Got a problem with that?"

He doesn't respond, instead choosing to stalk away to nurse his wounded ego or whatever. As he fades back towards his friends, I hear him mutter, "Fucking psycho chick..."

The reprimanding scowl fades off my face to be replaced with a self-satisfied smirk. I love death metal. Not only does it help express myself in my tortured-by-my-past moments, it's great for scaring off freaks. I don't need a bevvy of mall-crawling weirdos stalking me. I already know what my ideal man will be like. He'll have curly black hair and dark eyes that hold a secret and a smile, and he'll understand everything I've been through. And unlike most girls' dream men, I met him once, a long time ago, on a night when an exploding man and his brother tore the sky in two...


End file.
